Contrary
by omi1
Summary: Where Fuji and Tezuka take the longer route. Now edited for formatting as earlier scene breaks went poof. ;;


**Contrary**

by omi

Tezuka Kunimitsu wasn't the reason why he joined the Seigaku Tennis Club, but certainly, he was why he stayed.

Springtime, the first semester of their second year at Seigaku, and Fuji stood quietly at the sidelines, watching Tezuka play with one of the rare seniors still brave enough to step into the same court with the only boy who have gone undefeated in his two years of junior high tennis.

It was really no contest. Tezuka was still using his right hand, of course, and already the senior was panting, sweat pouring down his face, struggling to keep the rally going. Tezuka would break that rally soon, thought Fuji clinically even as his face maintained that perpetually sweet smile effortlessly. Tezuka would win, a respectable 6-3, no pride lost, no quarter given. A perfectly measured contest, an immaculately played match.

Just as the quietly intense boy had planned.

Once again, Fuji was struck by the similarities between Tezuka and himself. Fuji played, as he always did, for the entertainment value. He enjoyed grasping his opponent's pysche, playing just hard enough that the opponent would reach for victory that they'd thought was just within reach but wasn't. Not really. The game, or rather, the game-within-the-game, was to do it without anyone realising it.

Ryuzaki-sensei accused Fuji of toying with his opponents. Fuji, smiling, did not deny it. She never said the same about Tezuka though. At least, not in Fuji's hearing, which he didn't think was fair.

Tezuka was obviously Ryuzaki's blue-eyed boy, her favourite, even though his eyes were that strange brown which should have been so common but wasn't. Even though he toyed with his opponents just as much as Fuji did, yet was never called out for it.

A tiny part of Fuji muttered about that, and seethed -- but impotently, because the vast majority of Fuji was simply amused at how Tezuka, with his quiet serious eyes, with that thin severe line of a mouth, with his declared ambition to bring Seigaku to the Nationals, managed to deceive everyone, and did a much better job of it than even Fuji himself.

Not counting that incident with their senpai in their first year, of course. But then again, Fuji almost suspected Tezuka of deliberatly taunting the senpai with the sudden revelation that he was left-handed. It wasn't what Fuji would do, himself. He didn't believe in too much work, and concealing that kind of information is precisely that. Work.

But Tezuka had done it. Got injured for his pains, yes, but what a way to drive the message home, what a lovely start to the ultimate game.

It had made his cover ever so much more subtle. And of course, the fact that Tezuka won all his matches, for starters, went a long way to convincing people of his seriousness, of his love for tennis. But it didn't deceive Fuji. Tezuka's game was control, just as much -- if not more so -- as it was Fuji's.

He of all people should know, after all.

So Fuji watched, along with the rest of the club, smiling, as Tezuka demolished yet another opponent. And if his eyes only focused on Tezuka, no one could tell.

Game. Set. Match.

#break#

Fuji wasn't surprised when sometime in the summer, Tezuka came up to him, and invited him for a game of tennis. If 'invite' was indeed the word for the tersely worded sentence that verged just upon the edge of command.

The crickets were chirping, the air rattling in their thoraxes as the temperature climbed, and hot muggy air descended like a wet blanket on everyone and everything. Tezuka managed, by dint of sheer willpower along with numerous cans of Gatsby deodorant, Fuji suspected, to look cool and calm and unaffected, while everyone else wilted under the relentless heat.

Fuji kept him standing there in the sun for a long minute as he pretended to consider the 'invitation'. The strong summer light imparted a strange sense of flatness to everything, even Tezuka, with his hair curling just a fraction less under the heat and the humidity, and the light reflecting of his glasses so all Fuji could see was his own slightly warped face, smiling back at himself.

"Alright," agreed Fuji affably to Tezuka's stark invitation/command. There really was no question of his agreement, even though Fuji pretended there was, for appearances sake. And so off they went, shouldering their heavy ever-present tennis bags, bulging with books, and racquets and balls, and the endless minute paraphernalia that was the lot of tennis-playing school boys, out the school gates and up the street, heading for the street courts that was practically the second home for some of the team.

The courts were empty right then, since no one else was passionate enough, or crazy enough, to venture out to play in this heat. A small but persistent breeze moved the hot heavy air, rustled verdant leaves on the shrubs, lifted Fuji's hair gently off his slightly damp forehead. Fuji smiled, and chose the side he wanted to play from.

There were times when he wanted to win, after all.

The game started, no holds barred, by unspoken agreement. There was no need for the usual testing and probing of each other's defenses. They have watched each other play often enough during countless school practices.

Fuji waited for -- and got -- one of those zinging fast serves that Tezuka was apt to throw out as an appetiser for the more challenging opponents. Had positioned himself just so, so that he could use his own forward momentum to handle the impact of the ball against the racquet, and heave it up into a perfectly placed return to the left corner of the court where Tezuka was already waiting, eyes gleaming in anticipation.

His smile widened by a fraction. This might turn out to be more fun that he thought.

He sank onto the bench, chest heaving up and down as he gulped in harsh lungfuls of air. His muscles ached, the predictable outcome of too much latic acid buildup in his system, which in turn was the obvious reaction to too much exertion and too much heat.

It was every bit as challenging as Fuji had expected it to be. He'd had to use the triple counters that he had thought up in the springtime to combat Tezuka, had unleased every single one of them all in a flagrant display for the first time in his life.

It was... liberating. Not that he would do it again, but, for now, for this opponent, it was worth the temporary suspension of shields and camouflage.

Tsubame Gaeshi had won him two sets, before his opponent grew wise to his ways. Higuma Otoshi was nowhere near as effective as he thought it would be. Tezuka simply smashed his returns faster to another part of the court, where he could not get into position fast enough. Fuji's eyelashes fluttered down, brushing the soft skin under his eyes even as his mind ticked, working out new, better, ways of deploying his counters. Hakugei, now... Hakugei was fun. Fuji stopped thinking for a moment and simply savoured the look on Tezuka's face as the ball bounced back to his court.

He'd actually smiled after that. The first time he'd ever seen an actual expression that did not require minute examination under close quarters to identify. A smile, a baring of teeth, a quiet ferocity. And Fuji never did get to use Hakugei again.

He shifted lower on the bench, wondering briefly, if he would have won if he'd thought up more counters, if there was more time, if he had the stamina and power to back his genius, before returning to the new facets Tezuka revealed to him for the first time today. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up, a smile already forming on cue on his face. "Ne, Tezuka..." Fuji smiled. "It seems like I still can't beat the undefeatable Tezuka Kunimitsu."

Tezuka looked down at the smiling upturned face, and handed him the cold can of isotonic drink he'd just gotten from the vending machine. "Drink this," he instructed simply.

An tiny sense of disappointment stabbed Fuji, although no trace of that emotion showed on his face. He studied Tezuka's face through smile-crinkled eyes. Was that all? Fuji sighed mentally, yes, it would seem that that was all. Still the same old expressionless face, no hint of the earlier passion and emotion remained on the pale cold face.

Still, Fuji brightened as he accepted with soft thanks the drink from Tezuka, he had seen some emotion on Tezuka's face earlier, proof positive that the other boy was capable of having more than one expression. And now that he knew... Fuji's smile grew sweeter. His brother Yuuta, had he been around to see, would have advised Tezuka to run. Quickly. Now.

As it was, Tezuka simply seated himself next to Fuji, and they rested in easy silence on the bench by the court.

There was plenty of time after all...

#break#

The student body of Seigaku Gakuen soon grew used to the sight of Tezuka and Fuji together. There were times when they were apart -- after all, they were in different classes, and Tezuka had his student council meetings -- but for most part, Tezuka and Fuji were almost inseparable.

At least, to outside eyes.

Tezuka didn't really care what people thought. He had a sneaking suspicion that Fuji had picked him as a pet project, something to while away the boredom now that Yuuta had left for St. Rudolph's. But as long as it didn't affect his tennis, or the team, or interfere too much with Tezuka's life... Fuji is welcome to his games. Besides, it added spice to the usual monotony of school life.

Tezuka picked up his copy of the Student Council meeting report, and prepared to immerse himself in the enthralling account of how the football club managed to completely destroy a goalpost, three sections of the tiered-seating and uprooted a sizeable amount of the surrounding hedge; the school's proposed punishment for said club, the required budget for repairs and memo to students regarding respect for school property to be disseminated through the Student Council; and the annex consisting of the Seigaku Gardening Society's protest over the desecretion of important school plant life.

It must be that time of the year.

Tezuka made a mental note to himself to increase the number of laps the tennis club had to run. Not too much, but just enough to ensure that certain more... energetic members of the tennis team were sufficiently tired out and will therefore be in no condition to try to top the antics of the football club.

He turned a page. The door to the student council room slid open noiselessly, and a body slipped silently into the room, and came to stand right behind Tezuka.

"Ne..." A soft sweet voice sounded right beside his ear. "What are you reading?"

Prior experience had taught Tezuka not to turn his head, where some part of his face -- spectacles, lips, cheek -- would inevitably hit Fuji's soft, smooth, and above all, waiting, lips.

He shifted just a fraction away, as unobtrusively as he can manage, considering that the other boy was standing so close, he could feel the body heat emanating through the layers of uniform. "Ah," he said non-committally, as he reshuffled the papers so that the Seishun Gakuen student council crest on the front page was noticably visible.

Soft wisps of brown hair brushed across Tezuka's face as Fuji bent forward slightly to peer at the papers in his hand. "Sa... I thought I'd caught Tezuka reading porn or something, you looked so intent. Imagine the shock, the peerless Student Council President reading illicit material..."

"Hn," Tezuka did not even bother to comment. He pushed his chair away from the table, and stood. Fuji, straightening unhurriedly, remained close, almost touching. Tezuka only needed to sway a little closer, and their bodies would touch.

But he didn't.

"Today's the first away practice match of the year. Let's not get careless." The quiet admonishment behind his words, we are third-years now, we shouldn't play these games anymore, hung in the air, unspoken. He turned, walked towards the door, his back straight.

Behind him, Fuji's eyes flashed. "I'm never careless," he murmured smilingly to Tezuka's back.

#break#

Fuji had gone on ahead, with the rest of the Regulars, to the courts for training. Tezuka stood in front of Ryuzaki sensei's desk, and told himself that it was not running away, that it was part of the captain's duty to report the results of their first practice match, and to receive instructions -- if any -- from the coach on this all-important first practice of the year.

The look on Fuji's face, however, just minutes before in his classroom, said otherwise. Could, almost, be interpreted as accusing, if a smile could be accusing. Tezuka squared his shoulders just a little bit more, and blanked all thoughts of Fuji and rampaging hormones and smooth pale skin that slid over muscle... He cleared his throat softly, and begun his report to the coach, with barely a hitch in his voice. "We won D1, S3, and S1 matches, but dropped Doubles Two and Singles Two..."

The coach listened with a preoccupied air, that suggested she had other things on her mind. And sure enough, as Tezuka finished his report, the old sharp woman fastened her eyes onto Tezuka, and slowly drawled, "There's an interesting first year joining the tennis club this year..."

The rest of the day passed in a fast-forward blur, with only a few exceptions. The first time green-golden eyes met his. And the second time blue cerulean eyes opened and stared in silent accusation at him. Tezuka simply concentrated on his breathing, and clung with dogged determination to the prepared training schedule like a lifeline. Made sure that he was out in a meeting with Oishi and Ryuzaki-sensei on the upcoming matches to decide that term's Regulars, and far far away from the locker room where pale flesh flashed way too often for Tezuka's composure.

He'd put the new first year in, as a matter of course. It was easy enough to tell that the boy lived up to all the hype, and anything that increased the Seigaku's team strength was all the better for the team. And if the boy could also serve as a distraction for Fuji... was the slightly unworthy thought that went through Tezuka's head.

It was, thought Tezuka on the train-ride home, just hormones, this sudden blossoming awareness, the embarassing physical awakening that came from nowhere, with no warning, the constant arousal that he had to will down with every bit of his discipline. It was probably that time of his life, the time which books snigger about and put strange eupherisms around. Fuji wasn't helping either, what with his constant almost-brushes against Tezuka, and the smiles which weren't proper smiles, which made him want to... do something.

His shoulders sagged a micro-centimeter before straightening. Discipline. Tezuka repeated the word firmly in his mind. Discipline. Discipline over body.

He hoped.

#break#

Ryouma Echizen was not quite what he was hoping for. It was like... looking at a new born fledgling, blindly intent on following the path of its father, world be damned. It worried Tezuka. Someone needed to open the fledgling's eyes.

Ryuzaki-sensei did not approved, he knew. But it was something the captain of the team should do for the team, and he was the captain. For better or worse, he was the captain.

Fingers traced briefly the bumps and dips that was his elbow and dropped away. His physical condition was a worry too, but he'd be damned if he lived out his life in fear of a recurring injury. It was, Tezuka admitted, not the most rational thing to do, but then again, he was never the most rational of beings.

People tended to confuse rationality with his self-containment.

People tended to be wrong.

In his own way, he was as willful a person as any, perhaps more so. His parents and grandfather knew this. His grandfather, in particular, had understood and taught the young Tezuka how to survive the harsh realities of societal pressures and still remain intact to the best of his abilities.

His life became a balancing act, as delicate as a dance. He swapped filial responsibility and excellent academic results for freedom to come and go within his own home, swapped time and effort and leadership in the student council for the singular privilege of not having anyone tell him what to do, and for the privilege of playing tennis his way, he willingly undertook the responsiblity to ensure that all under him would be able to do the same.

Another dance was unfolding, of smiles, and soft brushes of skin against skin, and an unspoken invitation to something more. Time had proven that this didn't seem to be just hormones after all, but rather something more. Still, Tezuka had no doubt that he would come to some balance for that part of his life as well.

A small smile crooked his lips, and Tezuka Kunimitsu, captain of the tennis club, president of the student council, top scholar and boy, bent his head back to his books, back to the steady calm cadence of english, of mathematics, of history, and the turn of the world.

#break#

Fuji stood beside Inui, his smile only a faint quirk of lips, nothing like his usual standards, not at all. Something had happened between Tezuka and Echizen. He could feel it as clearly as if someone had telegraphed it from the mountaintops, the air quivering with the news.

The first year was... different. The pervasive hint of indifference that flavoured the younger boy's playing style had vanished, only to be replaced by a new consuming drive, clear to anyone with the eyes to see it. And Tezuka... Fuji's smile fell away even more.

He looked different. Almost... happy, if that was the word for the faint warmth in his eyes, and the softer tilt to his lips. His shoulders were as straight as ever, and his fingers did not dance, but there was a calmness about them, a relaxitude that Fuji found new and strange when seen in relation to Tezuka.

Matches came, and were played, won, and celebrated, and Fuji watched on in silence as that strange understanding between Tezuka and Echizen grew and grew and grew.

He suspended most of his teasing, his Tezuka-baiting, for the moment, limiting himself to only the occasional barb or caress for when he could no longer contain himself. He couldn't make himself stay away from the boy who'd caught his attention this long two years, but for most part, he simply watched.

And then came the day when they played Hyoutei.

Fuji smilingly allowed this young ursuper to take that all-important front seat as coach during his game. He deliberately used Hakugei. A foolish show of strength? Perhaps, considering Echizen's youth and singlemindedness. But something in Fuji lurked, and eyed the young first-year, and drove him to state, as baldly as he could. This is where I am, where Tezuka is, and it's you who still have much to learn.

Fuji watched and held his peace when Tezuka asked Echizen -- Echizen! -- to help him warm up. And then the game between Atobe and Tezuka. And Fuji was forced to conclude, for the first time, that perhaps he had always been wrong about Tezuka.

The shocks came -- Blam! Blam! Blam! -- one after the other. Tezuka's departure for Germany, announced with no pre-warning, no finesse, so like Tezuka. The match with Rikkai's Kirihara. The knowledge that Tezuka had managed, stone-faced as he was, expressionless as he was, idiot that he was, to somehow change Fuji himself.

They took the Kantou Regionals, blood, sweat and all. But Tezuka did not return.

#break#

Fuji laid on his bed and traced the lines of his left hand. The line of his collar bone, the firm muscle just over his shoulder, the lines of his bicep and down to his elbow, back up to the shoulder, and from the shoulder, a mere palm's breadth to the heart.

He had found, from Tezuka's dictionary, a new term today. Psychosomatic. Fuji turned the unfamilar syllables over and over in his mouth. Psychosomatic. The influence of mind over body. Psychosomatic.

This here must be the reason for the so-called heartbreak of lovers.

His heart was a strong muscle, banging away as energetically as ever, diligently pumping X liters of blood coursing through his body. Healthy, as prime an example of a human heart as ever existed. So the dull ache that sprang up in its general region in the late hours of night must be pyschosomatic. The mind, dreaming of Tezuka, influencing the body.

He'd even felt a twinge in his left shoulder today, late during tennis practice. Had recovered soon enough, but perhaps not fast enough to escape Inui's eagle-eyed scrutiny. Dreamily, Fuji's fingers floated against his own skin.

Was Tezuka examining his shoulder now? Was his hands touching his skin, just as Fuji was touching his? Would Tezuka be as gentle with himself? Fuji's breath came a little faster now, and his touch a little more painful.

Tezuka. Tezuka. Tezuka.

His fingers gripped into the muscle of his left arm, in unconscious parody of that hideous day of the match with Atobe.

Where are you now, Tezuka?

#break#

Days passed. Nights passed. Tezuka finally returned, just in time to lead Seigaku back to victory, his shoulder and elbow better than ever. The doctors in Germany were geniuses too it seemed, they were all geniuses, all of them, and the world rejoiced, and their third and final year of junior high seemed to end on that impossibly high note, the Seigaku crest floating in the wind, above all others.

Fuji stood, two paces behind Tezuka, his smile only slightly pensive, and watched that ramrod straight back go up onto the podium, to accept the crest and cup, the culmination of their cummulative hopes and dreams.

Tezuka had returned, slightly taller than before, and if there were faint lines of pain still lightly carved upon his face, well, they faded soon enough under the tender joint-ministrations of Oishi and Inui. The rest of the team fell over themself, with their rough boyish care, trying to treat their captain with the same kid-gloved care applied to old breakable glass heirlooms, until Tezuka himself finally roused himself and told them to desist, he had recovered, he was fine.

Fuji smiled, and could not seem to get his legs moving in the direction of Tezuka. Or, if Tezuka came up to him, or stood next to him, or sat next to him, could not seem to get his hands up to touch the flesh that was now finally at last just within reach.

Tezuka would look at him sometimes, a little quizzically, a little surprised, but said nothing, except for a lightly raised eyebrow, which for Tezuka was as good as an ten-page dissertation.

Fuji did not know what to say. The teasing words, that used to come so easily, now tripped and twisted within his mouth. Only his smile still worked, and Fuji found himself smiling, almost desperately, at Tezuka. An facial SOS, delivered though the upturned corners of his mouth, hour after hour, day after day.

Now it was Tezuka who was inseparable from Fuji, Tezuka who came after classes, before practice, during lunch, after school, to look for Fuji. There were no almost-touches now, or near-kisses now, only the calm solid presence by his side, and hands that were now too shy to rise and drape themselves over the broad shoulders so recently recovered.

And when Fuji finally realised what Tezuka's presence meant, his smile fell away and he nearly broke down and cried.

He felt, instinctively, that it was too late for him. His heart, scarred by phantom pain created by the mind, could no longer be brave, could no longer take that critical step forward, could no longer just remain a mindless pump created for the sole purpose of sending blood coursing through the body. It was caught in mid-step, suspended between air and earth, neither one or the other.

So Fuji smiled at Tezuka, helplessly, and the days passed.

#break#

The remaining days of Junior High flew by, only to be replaced by Senior High, which, when you came right down to it, wasn't all that much different. Tezuka went through the exact same paces, class representative in his first year, vice-captain of the tennis club in his second, captain and student council president in his third and final year.

Fuji was still with him, and Oishi, and Inui, and the entire component of the old Seigaku tennis club. Ryouma too, finally, caught up with them, fell back into the team with the barest hint of relief. The ochibi, as Kikumaru called him, finally grown up and back with his team.

But it wasn't really the same. Not anymore. There were university entrance examinations to conquer for them, the third-years, and at the end of the year, Kaidoh would be leaving Japan, for the greener fields of American professional tennis. Kaidoh made it before Ryouma, in a rare first. The boy had worn down parents and teachers, to finally win for himself the chance to showcase his tennis to the world. The first of his Seigaku Regulars to go professional.

The day they celebrated Kaidoh's annoucement, in the grandest send-off high school students could devise, Tezuka found himself on the verge of smiling throughout the day.

Ryouma would make it there too, was already grumbling slightly about the delay. His parents had placed their feet down, and firmly. No professional tennis until after high school, and Ryouma, chafing a little at the delay, took out his impatience in long drawn-out matches against his senpai, and against whatever unwary opponent that came his way, although those were admittedly rare.

The paths for the third years were less evenly clearcut. Oishi wanted to go into medicine, was knuckling down to studying, eyes clear on his objective, as was Inui, whose major in statistics came as no surprise. Tezuka himself has decided upon law, with the blessings of his family. Only Kikumaru and Fuji vacilliated, wandering around the university open-house booths like butterflies. But Tezuka had no doubts whatsoever. Not for his team.

Neither were there doubts for him and Fuji. They had simply continued their ambiguous almost-relationship as a matter of course. He had thought, after his return from Germany, that either he or Fuji might take it a little further, to its logical conclusion.

But Fuji had changed. Not for the better, nor for the worse. Just... changed.

So Tezuka simply waited, calm and steady and solid. There was plenty of time after all... For the both of them.

#break#

Fuji made his choice of university by the simple expedient of applying for whatever Tezuka had picked.

Fuji provided introductions between his old high school friends and his new girlfriend with only the slightest trace of defiance in his smile.

Fuji broke up with his girlfriend, and walked out of the restuarant, the vestiges of the red wine still dripping on his face, back to Tezuka, who quietly provided towels, and a clean change of clothes.

Fuji started on an ever-changing parade of girlfriends, of boyfriends, of dalliances, and romances that involved masses of flowers, of rain and snow and midnight serenades the day Tezuka introduced his girlfriend to his old high school friends.

Fuji stayed up with Tezuka the night he broke up with his girlfriend of two years, just before the final exams. There were no tears, only a deep abiding silence that no one broke, and a single bottle of whiskey that passed from lips to lips, and endless packs of cigarettes that were lit and left to burn.

#break#

Fuji was late. His steps, light and quick, tapped along the pavement, down the small, slightly rickety, stairs of the restuarant that both he and Tezuka liked to patronise.

Tezuka, he knew, would already be there. Tezuka did not believe in making the other party wait, even though his schedule as an intern in Tokyo's bigggest law firm was much busier than Fuji's. Fuji, after all, could dictate his own hours, could skip out of office with an easy smile and a wave of his camera.

But Tezuka was the person who will always be on time, was indeed already waiting in their usual table. Fuji slid into the seat opposite Tezuka with an ease born from familiarity, and smiled at Tezuka apologetically. There was a cup of tea before Tezuka, and the waiter, spying Fuji's entrance, was pouring his favourite red wine. A nod of thanks, and the waiter was dismissed, leaving the two young men alone.

"Ne, Tezuka," started Fuji.

"Hn?" Tezuka sipped his cooling tea.

"Did you know, I loved you from our second year of junior high?"

Tezuka's eyelashes flickered, briefly, and he slowly set down his cup. "Ah," he said, noncommitally, and carefully set his hands down on the table.

"Yes," nodded Fuji semi-seriously. "Absolutely and completely, head over heels and all that. But you were such an idiot, and left for Germany, and never gave me any reassurances when you came back, nor in the eight years since, so I gave up on you."

"Ah." His fingers smoothed out an invisible crease on the red and white checked tablecloth, and then stilled.

"I'm only mentioning this, because my sister sent me the last boxes of my stuff to my new apartment, and I opened one and found albums and albums of pictures of you. Remember? I used to take heaps of photographs of you. Anyway, I was going through your pictures, and was thinking about all the time we wasted."

"Hn..."

Fuji propped his head with one hand, and looked intently at Tezuka. "It'll never work out for us, will it? Because you're way too strait-laced, and never talk, and I'd always have to be the one to carry the conversion and initiate the sex and force you to go to parties. You'll drive me crazy with your obsession with cleaniness and Gatsby, and I'll drive you insane with my smiling and tricks and over-active imagination..." His words trailed off.

Tezuka breathed out, a tiny exhalation, and slowly, he said, "You're probably right." He stopped for a moment, then continued. "Except for the part about sex. I'm never careless about that."

"Yudan sezu ni ikou?" asked Fuji with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

"Yudan sezu ni ikou," confirmed Tezuka. And somehow, their hands were already tangled together across the table, in a clasp as close as lovers.

fin


End file.
